


alita: angel rising

by luminaescent



Category: Alita: Battle Angel (2019)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-10-31 00:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17839271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminaescent/pseuds/luminaescent
Summary: A very mediocre and unofficial attempt at a sequel for Alita: Battle Angel 2019, as the ending left me starved for content. Spoiler warning - basically the whole movie! Will be updated sporadically.I don't own Alita: Battle Angel. This fic is also NOT based off of the affiliated manga GUNNM and diverges from the official storyline. I don’t own GUNNM either, of course.





	1. After His Fall/Tournament Zero ♥

**Author's Note:**

> After Hugo is lost to the earth, I learn to bear the excruciating pain in favour of honouring his memory. I have to destroy Zalem. 
> 
> (NOTE: Small modification. Alita has not progressed to the championship levels / the Top League yet in this unofficial sequel, as opposed to the movie. She is still competing in the Third League, but her popularity is due to her being the audience's favourite.)

**_AFTER HIS FALL_ **

Death changes a person. Or so they say, but it’s hard to know if it applies to me (but then again, he did tell me I was the most human person he’s ever seen, and the tears coursing down my cheeks attest to that fact). Standing up straight is hard at first, I remember. Trying not to completely crush the mirror in my room - because I could well do that easily, at the touch of the slightest fingertip, with my iron-hard Berserker body - is very painful.

It’s my fault. I could have saved him from the defence ring. The memories. I wish they would return quicker. I know I remember battling the same damn ring with my mentor, and day after day I remind myself of it as I strap up my Motorball gear, tournament after tournament it chafes against my shell and even the slightest trickle of blue blood along my shin is a reminder of the warrior I vowed to become.

I get through these days only with Father by my side. He’s human - flesh-and-blood - and known the sacrifice of love lost. It’s almost cruel, the way that I have to bring him the news about Chiren after I return from the skies, the way that I’m sobbing over Hugo and he’s blinking back suppressed tears for Chiren and we’re both torn apart by some semblance of the heartache of sacrifice. We learn to wipe our tears, come back stronger. He checks my body every day, makes sure it’s up and working and making me agile and lithe and powerful as it is supposed to be (and between us, apart from the emotional damage that’s mutilating me on the inside, my Berserker body is functioning all too well.)

I get by sluggishly at first, and then all at once. Hugo is always tearing fresh wounds in me, and the first few days I wake up screaming his name in the dark and I draw the blinds shut and let myself become human, because _he said I was human enough and that’s all that matters, in the end - I changed him._

Sometimes I wonder if I hadn’t changed him, would he have fallen so brutally to his death? If we hadn’t met, there would have been a reality in which he lived. Somewhere, somehow, in another alternate universe, he might have survived, never to meet me, happy and content and brimming with that careless boyish charm he carried about him.

I stop myself from these thoughts by focusing on Nova. My hatred for him. The one person who annihilated countless lives and manipulated them into believing in a false dream. A dream of Zalem, the beautiful sky city, crushed in an act of merciless organ harvesting. Such cruelty. I channel all my energy into that one single intoxicating word - _revenge._ Somewhere in another timeline I will reunite with my Hugo, and we will find peace. But before that, I will exterminate Nova, and I know there’s nothing that can bring back the dead, but what do they say in these situations? The pain of a broken heart is the strongest of all, or so I believe.

\---

**_TOURNAMENT ZERO_ **

Crowds. They are dizzying, dazzling. They are waving banners with my name. At one time, when Hugo and I were fighting for the right to return to Zalem, I would have cared. Would have smiled, waved, played the prime part for the _Battle Angel Alita_ they all so craved for.

Now, I do not bother. The podium is bright, awash with intense light as I step on, and my heart thrums with a feeling very different from what I had felt at my first ever Motorball tournament. That, before, that was anxiety, anticipation, eagerness. Today there is some dark force coiling and curling its claws against my pumping heart, a certain something that screams of destruction.

Blue fire crackles along my palm and along the length of my sword. The crowd’s cheers are fuel to my flame. In a bold move, I raise my sword in the air, the tip pointing straight towards Zalem. The crowd goes wild - evidently, they believe my actions symbolise me stating my intent to become Motorball champion and return to Zalem. But they are utterly wrong. This is a challenge. A direct challenge towards Nova, the gamemaster of this world, the man behind the chess pieces, sitting comfortably in the confines of his own room.

With all that is in me, I pray that he is watching.


	2. Rebirth ♣

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wake up. I am reborn, into a body that is not mine, into something inhuman and beautiful.

**_REBIRTH_ **

Nothing. Then blinding white flashes in my eyes, and I’m falling. They say when you dream of falling it’s a sign of insecurities. Anxietes. I’m falling, cartwheeling like a bird with its wings cut, completely out of control. Before impact, my eyes fly open and I register the light.

Strong light. My arms and legs are strapped down to a table so that I cannot see anything but the room I am in. The chair I am on, tilted at a small incline. Whirring gadgets beside my prison, with numbers and digits and heart monitors running on full speed (which makes me wonder whether I’m being imprisoned, or in a hospital). My head is aching with a dull pain, like something has wrapped its arms across my temples and pounded at them for dear life.

I try to roll on my side tentatively, pull at the restraints cuffed to my wrists, and conclude that I am probably very much trapped for the time being. I scan the room for exits - a single door is infuriatingly and tantalisingly right in front of me, and I can do nothing about it.

I sigh.

“You’re awake, then.” A male voice startles me, deep and charismatic. A figure steps in, hooded, so that I cannot see any of his facial features. He reaches out to the machines beside me and taps in a few keys with his...metal...fingers?

My eyes widen at the sight of them. Most definitely a cyborg, or a hybrid, or something along those lines. My memories are fuzzy, but I distinctly remember something about limb amputation and cyborgs in the back of my mind.

_Cyborgs…? There’s something important about that. It tugs at my insides, gives me a sense of hollowness. Emptiness. I don’t know what it is. I cannot put my finger on it._

He sees my expression and laughs, low and melodic, and steps back from the machines. A whirring sound starts up and I tense.

“If you do anything to me, anything at all, I’ll-” I break off. I’m not even quite sure what my name is, let alone remember whether there are any ways to arrest someone here in Iron City.

_Yes. Iron City. This is where I am. It’s slowly coming back to me._

The man tilts his head in amusement. “No, I’d never hurt you. On the contrary, I’m here to make sure you’re fed and kept well-maintained and ready for the future that awaits you. If I were to endanger you, would I have fitted you into the best cyborg body ever created?”

“Oh come on. Don’t tell me all the machines are for nursing me back to health from whatever ordeal I went through. Besides, who are you, and what is your intention with me?”

He raises his hands in mock surrender.

“I come in peace. I’ll tell you who I am after you answer one simple question.”

Foolish as I am, I take the bait because I have no other choice. Ever since I woke up there has been a curious sort of hunger gnawing at my insides, something with a dangerously insatiable appetite. I want to remember who I am, what I am supposed to do, what I look like, where I am. I don’t know what I have gone through to be strapped to this chair like prey waiting to be devoured, but I know it has something to do with falling and flying and an odd sense of pain.

_Pain, or more accurately, loss. I have lost something dear to me, something that could even be called my whole world. I don’t know what it is, but I have to find it. I have a feeling that my loss might even turn out to be irreparable, and for a moment hurt lances through my chest and I struggle to breathe._

“Fire away.”

The man grins a secret smile to himself, and it is almost feral, the way he angles his chin at me and whispers, “How much do you remember?”

It’s a pointless question. I answer truthfully, since I have nothing to lose anymore.

“I don’t know much. Bits of information are filtering back to me slowly. For instance, I just identified the city we are in right now as Iron City. I remember the existence of cyborgs,” I gesture to the metal fingers of his hand, the only part of him apart from his smile that is exposed to my view, and his smirk turns into a small grimace. “I remember falling. Flying. I must have been in an accident somehow. But I don’t remember anything else.”

“Well, that was expected. You’re wrong about the one thing, though.”

“What one thing?”

"You didn't have any sort of accident." 

To my surprise, the man steps closer and lets his hood fall in a swift, fluid motion, and I barely manage to stifle a gasp. Half of his face is completely made out of some type of liquid steel that is currently shifting into humanoid form, all chiseled edges and sharp jawlines. There is a small crop of brunet hair twisted into a braid at the top of his shaved head. The set of his mouth is cruel, his eyes the colour of ice.

The sight of him stirs up a wild rush of nausea in me and the room suddenly sways. _Do I know him from somewhere?_ The man catches my shoulders and steadies me, the frown of his mouth a concerned line.

“Can’t have you fainting this early in the game. Call me Z. I’m the specialist assigned to help you acquire the optimal cyborg body to play in the Motorball tournament finals so that you get to win and return to Zalem, the sky city you’ve always dreamed of going to.”

Z’s words jog the memories and they flood in, hesitantly and then all at once. Motorball - my love for the sport, the thrill and the heady adrenaline rush that I got when I strapped on my gear and raced on the streets. Always watching tournaments, wanting to join one someday. Zalem - my desire to earn my way up. The glory of the floating city. The rest of it eludes me, but I remember doing everything I could to get my hands on a one-way-trip to Zalem.

Things don't quite add up, though.

“What about my memory? Was there a malfunction when you designed the gear and is that why I’ve lost part of my memories?”

Z shrugs. “Necessary precaution. We’ve inserted a bio-chip with your memories into your brain, because we wanted to prevent any sort of damage that may occur with altering your human form to such a powerful body. The memories will gradually return. I can’t tell you any details about your cyborg body at such an early stage, but let’s just say it can now change and react in a specific way to an attack.”

The words leave me even more disoriented and disbelieving. I grip the armrest of the chair in an attempt to steady myself.

“Can I be let out of the restraints, please? I think I feel strong enough. Unless you have some special use for them.”

“Of course, of course.” Z strides over and unlocks the restraints casually, humming as he works. The light in the room flickers momentarily as he bends over me and I let out a breath of relief as soon as the straps are loosened and I can move my hands.

My hands.

My fingers.

My body. I can see it now. Beautiful, blue metal. It is dark indigo covering my limbs, glinting ferociously in the light. The body is fitted together perfectly, and as I test the legs on the floor I find them thrumming with energy, something inhuman. As I face Z with my new body, the chest muscles ripple, changing into hard plate; my form slips suddenly into a battle stance, and Z grins at my movements.

“Seems almost automatic, right? This is state of the art anti...uh, I mean defence and offence gear. Works against almost any type of Motorball opponent. After today, after you try out your body, I’ll start fitting you with Motorball attack gear.”

A frisson of excitement wells up in me, and I smile for the first time since I’ve woken up. Z nods, his blue eyes glinting, and it seems like a trick of the light but I see them briefly change colour to a darker, more cerulean shade. A second later his eyes are crinkled in the most warming expression ever and I’m sure I imagined it.

“Thank you so much, Z. I don’t know how I’m going to pay you back for this.”

“Don’t worry. It seems like-” here he frowns slightly- “all your Motorball expenses have been taken care of by a third party. They’ve asked me not to reveal their identity for now, but it seems like they’re your sponsor, or something. The details I’ve been given are vague, too.”

I am about to question him even further, when he blurts out as if letting me in on a secret,

“I think your sponsors hail from Zalem.”

And I am flooded with awe. I’m half sure I don’t deserve such treatment, a gut instinct telling me that there’s some things that I must figure out before I accept this offer, but then again I’m already in a super-powered body ready to brave my first Motorball fight.

_I don’t want to miss the chance to go to Zalem._

“I have a few more things to take care of, but in the meantime try out your body. I’m pretty sure you’ll like it.” Z turns to leave. 

“I’m allowed to go anywhere, right?”

“Stay in here until I return, because your motor functions might not be the best right now. It’s for your safety. There are people who would kill for the cyborg body you have, and they will go to any lengths to get it.” At this his face darkens.

I feel a momentary pain again. The mere thought of people obtaining cyborg limbs for their own gain is so excruciating to think of. It feels almost personal. The more I muse over it, the more I need to know.

I don’t voice these thoughts to Z.

“Z, one last thing. What’s my name?”

I cannot keep the desperation in my voice from seeping out this time. I remember where I am, what I need in life, but the one thing that identifies me fully is still lurking in the darkness, out of my reach. 

Z’s even white teeth flash in the darkness as his cloak sweeps grandly out of the door.

“You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this second chapter! It was a bit rushed and not edited because I was too excited to post, but it'll be refined soon after.
> 
> Not sure if anyone got the plot? And the character references?


	3. Rebellion ♥

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories, intangible, but painfully intact. I am assailed with them every waking moment, and I fight.

**_REBELLION_ **

They’ve asked me why I’m fighting countless times. Usually each Motorball competitor has a specific agenda, one that they proudly share with the whole audience, bare their heart for everyone to see it bleeding profusely in the open. Most of it is just  _ Zalem, I wish to go up.  _ Each time I hear one of those answers (which are getting more prolific in the wake of Iron City’s desperation) I want to scream, or cry, or yell out the truths that they don’t know an inkling of. Or all three. 

They don’t know the true nature of what’s behind Zalem. But if I speak, tell them what I know, I’m jeopardising any chance of me travelling there myself (he’s watching, if I tell them he might break the link between Zalem and Iron City or worse). So I keep quiet. 

It’s the first time I learn selfishness, a wholly human emotion, and it keeps me vigilant of my every action.

I learn one more emotion. Hope. 

“He’s not dead.” I tell Ido - Father - one day when he is fine-tuning my Berserker body. The machines are loading up with a projection of the different facets of my fighting ability. His head jerks up, and there is a weary look on his face. 

“Alita…” He comes over, lays a placating hand on my shoulder, his eyes full of a deep sorrow. 

“I know we’ve had this argument a lot of times before, but they never found his body. If they had, it’d be on full display on one of the Hunter-Warriors’ accounts by now. You know how they like their spoils fresh and their reward timely.” 

I can’t keep the derision from seeping into my voice. The Hunter-Warriors. None of them are truly there for honour, are they? Trying to obtain allies to fight against Grewishka taught me that much. They are there for the money, for what they will get after they scan their beheaded spoils into the system for acclaim.

“It’ll hurt you, going on like this.” Father pleads, his eyes begging me to understand, and for a moment I waver. 

“I’m not going to give up on him so easily. For all we know, he could be somewhere out there, getting fixed onto a new cyborg body. He could be alive and needing help!” 

Even I recognise the sheer desperation in my words. I’m flailing, grasping at straws. 

“Look, Alita. I’m not stopping you from searching for him in the streets of Iron City, because you and I both know you’ll do so anyway no matter what I say. But I want to tell you this: sometimes you have to let go of things that are already behind you.” 

“It’s not like I haven’t tried, Father!”

My voice goes up a notch hysterically, and he sees the distress in my eyes, lets me lean my head on him. Rummaging in the closet, he hands me a small orange to eat that I tear through with gusto. The familiar comforting scent floods my tastebuds and I breathe in. For a moment, the pain fades, the tears recede, and my heart rate slows to a low, relaxed ba-dump that we both gaze at on the heart monitor. Transfixed. 

“I’ve already lost Chiren. I don’t want to lose you. Grief eats away at the soul, child.” 

“I know. I’ll try not to think about it too much. But I’ll keep searching.” 

I am unable to keep the determination out of my voice, and Father hears it seep out, and he sighs. He checks the machines once more, untangles me from the straps and lets me off the bed. I test my strength, relieved to find that the small upgrade is working. Now, I am learning to handle progressively heavier and more aggressive objects. Preparation for ascending into the Second League, one step closer to my goal. 

Even though I know most of the players in the Third League are already not a match for me, I take no pleasure in this fact. How long it takes for me to climb up to the top is another matter entirely. I just want to do what I’ve always been destined for. Annihilate Nova, destroy Zalem. 

_ Find Hugo’s body and bury him so that he lies in peace. _

The thought triggers another wave of helplessness inside me. As I bite into the last chunk of orange, I realise what’s bothering me. A memory.

_ “Don’t tell me you’ve never had chocolate before!” A laugh, and Hugo pushes his tousled hair out of his eyes. The sunlight illuminates his face in a halo and I am momentarily awed at the sight of him. A human boy, joking with me. His eyes brimming with genuine happiness. _

_ I laugh with him. “Hey, you know all my memories are gone. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen, let alone eaten anything like this.”  _

_ I turn the chocolate bar over in my hands, running a tentative finger over the smooth pieces. It has a slightly velvety scent. Hugo watches me, interest alight in his eyes as I bring the chocolate to my mouth and break a piece off with my teeth slowly.  _

_ Immediately, my taste buds overflow with a sensation of what can only be described as pure heaven. A comforting, sweet, velvety scent seeps into my senses and I can’t stop myself: I break another piece off, savour the taste with gusto. Hugo’s grin breaks into my view, and I cannot stop myself from smiling any more as I devour more of the gift he’s given me.  _

_ “This is so amazing! I love it! Thank you!” I mumble through my mouthful, practically jumping up and down in excitement, and Hugo is ecstatic. He wraps a hand around my shoulders and I feel a frisson of pleasure dash through me.  _

_ “If I’d known that was what it takes to make you happy, I would have bought you chocolate sooner. I’m glad you like it so much.”  _

The memory fades in the telltale whirr of a motorcycle engine. I jerk back to the present, staring at the sad orange peel lying in the middle of my palm. Pain. My eyes are hot, pinpricks attacking my nerves. I jump to my feet, thank Father, dash into my room before the tears flow freely down my cheeks and I narrowly miss putting a hole through the alabaster walls.

\---

When I finally escape into the bustling streets it is almost nightfall. The air is chilly, but with my body I do not feel the cold. My eyes are misty, my stomach churning with some unfamiliar emotions that I’ve been battling ever since the past few weeks.

Iron City at night is still as packed with people. In the night I can lower the hood of my jacket and hide my face and pretend to be an ordinary passerby, with an ordinary life, different only because of the cyborg body that powers me - but then again I can easily pass for a Hunter-Warrior on the prowl, or a person with injured limbs. Under cover there is nothing separating me from the others. 

In the day it is different. One step outside Father’s laboratory and I am assailed with murmurs and whispers and shouts of “Hey, that’s the Motorball fighter! The Battle Angel Alita!” that grate on my nerves. It’s not that I don’t appreciate their attention. It’s that it’s for all the wrong reasons. 

I enter the Factory, glare at the Centurions that train their evil crimson stares on me. I scan my Hunter-Warrior card and scroll through the list of bounties. Nothing. No reports on Hugo, no bounty on his head. 

I don’t know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or burst into tears. Another day that he’s not identified means another day’s chance for him to be alive, but I know that if he were alive he would have searched for me, searched for Father’s laboratory, searched for us. I know that by the last words he left me with. 

_ “Thank you for changing me.”  _

I force the memories down. There’s no time to deal with my sadness, no time for me to get sidetracked. I remember snippets of my training back in Urm, when my mentor pushed me to the brink during every mission, never losing sight of my goals.

_ “Number 99. Destroy Zalem.”  _

Echoes of a past that is in rubble, but impactful all the same.

I hurry out of the Factory, scan my surroundings for any sight of danger. That’s when I see it. In front of my foot, a small spider. Its body glows with metallic blue...metal?

I swallow. This is not an ordinary creature. I squint at it warily as it scuttles in front of me with menacing eyes. The creature’s body is entirely made out of cyborg material, deep blue steel and metal and iron, and sparks of light blue fly along its eight sharply tipped legs. I sense the malevolence emanating from it, and I narrow my eyes. 

A transmitter? A trap for me to fall into?

Suddenly it skitters up my leg and I react quickly, unsheathing my sword and slicing it off. Its head rolls cleanly onto the tarmac, the legs broken apart from the body, and I sigh in relief. A child’s prank, maybe.

My relief is short-lived as the spider’s decapitated head wriggles desperately, as if in a last bid to live. The scattered eight legs zoom back towards the torso as if it’s being attracted towards it like the opposite poles of magnets. In seconds, the spider is again fully intact and it stares up at me, skittering just as before. 

My eyes widen. Self-repairing cyborg spiders? As the spider’s head turns in a mechanical way, I suddenly realise. Someone must be controlling it. Someone behind the device. I haven’t ever seen a cyborg get amputated and revive as if its limbs were reconstructing themselves, going back to full strength, attaching themselves with the body. 

This is new technology. This is not child’s play. 

And with that, I angle my head downwards, raise my fist, and crush the spider into the ground. While it’s reforming I kick a stray rock and flatten the body with it, hoping it’ll delay the process. For good measure, I muster all my strength and blast the spider with plasma from my fingertips. Then I run. 

Someone must be trying to jeopardise my Motorball capacities, sending reconnaissance devices like these indestructible bugs to find my location and discern my strengths. For that, I need Father’s help, for him to find out what that creature was.

It is not until I return home that I encounter my next horror.

“You’re back.” 

Father’s eyes raise from the computer, and they instantly widen in dismay. 

“Where did you go? What happened to you?” 

He rushes over, takes my hand in his, his stare shocked and fearful. 

I raise a questioning eyebrow at him, and turn my gaze to my hand. Then my breath is taken away. My knuckles are trickling with blue blood. Small incisions, cuts not deep enough to permanently injure but cuts all the same, are sizzling with a deep blue flame that is not generated by me.

My indestructible Berserker body,  _ damaged.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belated update! Hope this was enjoyable. Stay tuned for the next chapter, and do comment your thoughts!


	4. Deception ◆

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slash of injured pride, and an alternate destiny is forged, deep in the heart of one plotting Hunter-Warrior.

**_DECEPTION_ **

Zapan draws his cloak around him, and a smirk fights its way up the moment he steps out of the makeshift laboratory. He knows Hugo won’t listen to him, of course, given the personality and the brain intact - rulebreakers were born to be rulebreakers. As Zapan rounds the corner, he can’t help it anymore. A chuckle comes out of his lips. How easy it was for him -  _ them _ \- to win. 

A hand comes up, caresses the ruined side of his face, where state-of-the-art metal has been melded into the cracks that his mortal enemy had carved in his precious skin. Zapan’s fists clench and unclench as he remembers the moment his pride was utterly destroyed by that insignificant girl, that overconfident little cyborg. She’d even taken his prized sword.

_ No matter, Alita. _ He muses darkly, entering a hidden side door at the back of the building.  _ Boyfriend in custody, and I’ll have you begging for mercy at my feet soon enough before I slash off your face in revenge. Or should I slash off his instead? A beautiful sacrifice that would be. _

Zapan flicks a switch, the lights coming on in a second. The chamber is revealed to be flooded with surveillance camera footage with at least ten televisions plastered to the walls. The cameras are all fixated on one certain metallic-blue tinted cyborg making his way tentatively, but with a determined gaze, out of the door he’s just been told not to go through. 

Laughing, he sits down in the swivel chair before the televisions and gazes up at the boy his enemy challenged the system for, the boy who will become her downfall.  _ The modification was a success. There’s no other way he can go without the cameras seeing him. Let him grow, let him try to find out his past, and he’ll find that lovely alternate version we feed him with.  _

He remembers the laborious preparation clearly enough. As soon as Zapan manages to retrieve Hugo’s still-breathing torso from the Scrapyard (by miracle or by accident, he does not know), Nova contacts him. Dispatches one of his minions, who talks to him about their plan. 

“The bio-chip will be the key,” Nova’s minion intones. It’s a young boy with glowing blue eyes, and Zapan is eventually told that the eyes are Nova’s path to control. 

“So once we modify everything, once it is inserted, he will be altered?” 

“That is correct.”

The boy notices Zapan’s hesitation, and whispers, “You know what must be done for her to be brought under control once and for all.” 

Since his joining the Hunter-Warriors, Zapan has only been driven to pursue a career of pragmatism and determination. He is above all the one who gets things done. Choose prey carefully from the allotted bounty list, minimise the amount of risks taken, and deliver the head to be scanned. The rules are simple, the objective clear. 

Alita has so far been the only one to challenge that, challenge the system and humiliate him. 

Zapan is very protective of his own honour - even though he is a cyborg and slicing off his face does not damage his nerves unlike a human’s. Now that he has a goal, he knows he will finish it, and that is why he remembers telling Nova’s minion, 

“Yes. I do know.” 

Once he’s sure Hugo has turned out of the outskirts and onto the small strip of Iron City that is accessible to him, Zapan leans back and waits. Instructions will come through. 

_ You have done well. _

He shudders, partly out of a reverential fear and partly out of pride. 

_ Thank you. I trust you will want to carry out the surveillance yourself? After all, the design is yours. And the prey is yours to keep. I’ve gotten you what you need for Alita, haven’t I?  _

_ True, true.  _ He feels Nova’s amusement buzz through him, and he swallows. Sometimes Zapan is not sure if Nova is using him for his own gains, or if he’s really going to follow through with everything, including Zalem. He has never harboured a very strong desire to go up, but his main goal - getting his revenge on Alita - would be doubled if he thwarted her plans to kill Nova and destroy Zalem, by protecting both Nova and Zalem. (Though, it’s not like Nova needs any help crushing her when she’s finally there in person before him.) 

So he has to have a little trust sometimes. Even though he’s technically a Hunter-Warrior, allegiances die in the face of the force of revenge. 

_ We’ll see about our next step. For now, I control. _

Zapan smiles, lets Nova in. The cameras flicker ominously for a second as his irises shift lazily into a bright, piercing cerulean hue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter was short. Zapan is not a character I particularly like writing in - hence the third person - and I'm running out of motivation for this fic. I wish the Alita fandom was more active. Then again, your comments always keep me going, so do leave some thoughts! 
> 
> (Not sure if y'all liked the small plot twist, by the way.)


	5. Recollection ♣

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One: Apparently, my name is Hugo. Two: I am about to die.

**_RECOLLECTION_ **

Once he leaves, the first thing I do is walk around the room. It is fairly simple, with that inclined chair and the loosened restraints dangling limply down the sides of my chair. Interior design: simple, almost cool and calculating. White walls and floorboards. A monitor whirrs beside me, and I sidle over to it. 

My feet make no noise. Cold metal on austere floor. Every single movement of my body is precise, secure, almost bending to my own will. Is this the kind of technology Z and other specialists develop nowadays? If so, it’s amazing. Fluid and flawlessly formed, every muscle of my body seems to be humming in tune to my instincts. 

I scan the monitor, relaxing when I find nothing suspicious in it. It’s just a heart rate tracker, coupled with some drawings of my body - they are sketches done in blue pen and converted into holograms, and said holograms are displayed in an array before me. 

The holograms are divided into parts.  _ Feet - springs, bone structure, joints. Muscle - motor functions. Brain - bio-chip.  _ Though rough sketches, they are detailed and meticulous, labelling every part of my body. Those Zalem folks must be loaded for them to waste so much money on building me the optimal body. 

Then again, I don’t recall much from my memories yet. Z promised the memories would return, but the clearest memory I have as of now is falling. Falling endlessly. 

Something constricts my heart and squeezes it. I’ve been experiencing this wrong-footed feeling ever since I woke up, like something inside me has been telling me that I’m in danger. I’m not safe. I’m not in good hands. Yet I see no reason for it. Certainly it is because my memories are (for now) blurry, and I don’t remember asking Z to modify my Motorball body, much less the Zalem sponsors who are supposedly behind all of this, though they clearly would not have told me about their plan. 

_ Something is amiss, all the same.  _

Z has been gone for awhile, at least 15 minutes. Done exploring the holograms, I sink back down onto the chair, stretch my limbs and yawn. Then my eyes fall on a serrated blade lying quietly on the top of the monitor. It is ordinary at first glance, but there is a small blue diamond inlaid into the handle of the blade.

My temples start aching.  _ The blue diamond. The mark of Zalem. I remember.  _

Is Z from Zalem? That’s a question I have to ask. His face is marred. Half of it metal, half of it human. The blue diamond would not be visible when the metal melds to his forehead. Hidden completely by the sculpted part of his face. And this is his blade, of course. Curious, I edge over and pick it up - unfortunately, by the wrong end. 

The metal cuts into my fingers as I let out a startled gasp. A jolt of pain rushes up my wrist and blue blood leaks out of the wound, pooling on the monitor. I hurriedly wrap my bleeding finger in the edge of my shirt, and carefully place the blade back. 

_ Stupid. That was careless. He’ll see the blood and jump to conclusions.  _

Then it happens. The pain stops completely. It hasn’t faded out slowly into the background - it’s just gone, instantly. I unwrap my finger and examine it. The cut is gone and my finger is as good as new. There’s no coagulated blood. Instead, it’s just a clean finger, just as if my wound never happened. 

_ It’s almost as if my body healed itself.  _

Furrowing my brows, I stare at the finger as if it holds all the secrets of the world. But the wound doesn’t reopen, and Z doesn’t come back, and the finger is still intact. My blood is still on the serrated blade.  _ Did I have a hallucination? What am I, now that I’ve obtained this body? Who am I?  _

Moments later I come to the inevitable conclusion, and the seeds of doubt towards Z in my mind sing their assent. I have to find the answers myself. The answers are not here, in this desolate experiment site, where Z is in control. The answers are out in Iron City, and honestly - I want nothing better than to find out what exactly is up with me and my Motorball career. 

\---

I locate Z’s experiment room at the outskirts of Iron City. More of my memories are dredged up as I walk towards the city as if on autopilot. I am currently in the stretch of land that connects the Badlands to Iron City. The Badlands are outside of Iron City, a place where things are tranquil and filled with lush greenery. At one point I pass a giant hulking piece of metal which seems like the hull of a sunken ship - the exterior of the ship feels familiar to me. I don’t know where I have seen this before, yet.  

Upon close inspection, there are markings on the ship that say URM. The acronym is familiar to me as well, and I repeat it under my breath, searching inside me for something that might trigger-

_ “But the new fighter’s rumored to be URM. There’s no way Zalem is letting one of them in.”  _

_ An overheard whisper, spoken by a girl with flowing black hair. I pause, fork suspended above the food I’m eating, and listen. The boy beside her laughs, his head thrown back in mirth.  _

_ “Don’t even start listening to those conspiracies! Motorball has always been for us citizens of the Scrapyard. After the Fall, after the URM blasted our sky cities to pieces, nobody would want to befriend any URM soldier, much less root for them.”  _

_ “But the body she’s using-” _

_ “True, it does look like something out of the stories. Berserkers, they called themselves apparently. But I’m cheering her on all the same, because she’s definitely a winner. Look at her latest round in the Third League. She’s advancing to the Second once she annihilates the others.” _

_ The girl sighs. “Anyway, if she’s URM, somebody better defeat her. Zalem is destined for the special, not our enemies from Mars. But if she isn’t, I’m curious to see how she rises up the ranks.”  _

Reality rushes in like a tidal wave and I find myself sprawled on the ground outside the ship. URM - the United Republic of Mars. Soldiers of URM attacked our sky cities ages ago in The Great War. The memory seems to be about a Motorball fighter rumored to be from URM. One of my possible adversaries on the field, or else a newcomer…? The premise seems vaguely right, but there is a sense of murkiness to the memory, almost as if it’s been forced out of my mind. 

I’m ecstatic that I’m able to recall at least something, all the same. I pick myself up, dust myself off with ease now that I’m more comfortable in my new body, and set off again. 

I reach the end of the Badlands and the border to Iron City. Iron City is a sprawling metropolis filled with colour, and from afar I already see people with metal limbs, an arm here and a leg there, and I grin to myself. At least I’m in the company of strangers who share something in common with me. There seems to be some sort of commotion at the front of the street, where pedestrians are parting and giving way to a distant figure. But remembering Z’s warning about people wanting my cyborg parts, I squint at the scene, then duck into a nearby alley to advance towards the city in stealth. There is nothing to be gained from going into conflict right after I’ve acquired my new body. 

The alley is dark, silent, and damp - though it is broad daylight, there is an eerie chill about it. I sidle through the narrow space, running my hypersensitive fingers across the walls. I am fixated on the way my fingers respond to every small bump and slide in the concrete. Later I will have to explore the untapped potential that is no doubt stored inside me. 

I hear footsteps, and a crack. I turn round anxiously, scanning the area, my fists instinctively flexing. My fingers brush Z’s serrated blade, which I brought along for protection. But there is nothing but me and a stray cat that hisses at me as it pads past. 

_ Is it normal to sense danger in the air? _ I’ve wandered a long way from the Badlands and Z’s hideout. I feel a momentary spark of panic, and quash it by reassuring myself that I know Iron City, have lived in it since birth, and my memories will come back. I will be fine. 

Then, all at once, I am proven wrong. 

“Well, I didn’t expect to find you this early on. Did the others leave you for dead?”

A woman. Menacing eyes, with four arms, chains, and...knives for hands. A screw is attached on the left side of her forehead, and she is advancing towards me with all the knives at the ready. I know I’ve seen her somewhere before. My eyes widen, and fight-or-flight kicks in. I try to turn and run, but my body says otherwise: battle mode is kicked into action, and to my surprise and horror my body has already adapted into a fighting stance.

_ The Kansas Bar, night. I am laughing with a few other guys, people I recognise as my team members. We have just successfully attacked a lone cyborg in the alleyways, and he is yelling and struggling furiously as we load him into our truck, and my men get to work on dismembering his limbs.  _

_ I stand outside the truck, smiling in satisfaction. Another one down.  _

_ “Well done.” A man is facing me. He is dark-skinned, bald, wearing black sunglasses and a charming smile playing at the edges of his lips.  _

_ I swallow and nod. “I hope you’re satisfied. You remember what you promised.” _

_ “Zalem. I haven’t forgotten.”  _

_ He claps me on the shoulder, gives a brief grin, turns away. I nod curtly back at him. I stomach this horrendous duty just because I want a pathway to Zalem. But amputating cyborgs has never been my style. _

The memory falters for a second, and reality falls back in. My fingers drop to the serrated blade at my side. The memory tells me I was once a person who stole cyborg limbs to get to Zalem. That much is true. Now that the memory has stopped filtering in, it’s static, as if the memory has been paused in the middle, as if it has to reboot before restarting, (maybe it’s not real)-

_ Well, that won’t do, I think to myself. Compassion still runs in my very human veins. There is definitely something else, and that is for me to become a professional Motorball player. In the end buying my way up would never be satisfying. I want to earn my way to Zalem. _

_ Just as I finish this thought, a woman steps out of the bar. Her enhanced limbs shock me. She has four arms, with chains and glinting knives for arms. I frown at the disheartening sight.  _

_ I have seen her before. _

The latter part of the memory leaves me shaken. I know this place, more intimately than I’ve ever imagined. I was once desperate for a way to Zalem, but now that I’ve become a Motorball player, there’s nothing to fear anymore. And then there’s the woman in front of me...I struggle to identify her, but I still have no clue despite the sudden influx of memory. She must be one of those like me before, stealing cyborg limbs for her own gain. Why she’s augmented is a mystery. Where did she get those _ chains?  _ Those  _ knives? _

The woman takes in my shell-shocked post-memory face, my fighting pose, and laughs cruelly.

“Time to stop running, Hugo. You’re done, even with that new cyborg body. Not sure where you got that junk from, but it ain’t helping you win against me. Your head -” she points playfully at my head with one of her knife fingers- “My earnings.” 

And in that moment, I realise two things. 

_ One: Apparently, my name is Hugo. Two: I am about to die.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo! This chapter is jam-packed with exposition and flashbacks. Hope they weren't too overwhelming. Poor Hugo, I feel for ya. Also, I just had to write Screwhead in my sequel. The movie didn't do her justice, she deserved to have much more of a speaking role. 
> 
> On a completely unrelated note, I am SO HYPED that other writers have been posting works in the Alita tag. I only hope the fandom grows. The fandom is what keeps me fuelled on writing energy. 
> 
> Do send me your thoughts on this update!


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